


The Mystery of a Speeding Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Sorted (Website) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, seriously there's a lot of talk about blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16453985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's the emergency room meet-cute, where Ben cuts himself while cooking and gets more than just stitches from his trip to the hospital.(Please be aware that there's a lot of talk about blood in this fic. If that's not your cup of tea, maybe give this one a miss)





	The Mystery of a Speeding Heart

Trying to navigate his way from the parking lot into the hospital is doing Ben’s head in. It shouldn’t be difficult – there are signs everywhere directing him to the main entrance – but the flickering fluorescent lights and his own light-headedness is making concentration really hard to maintain. He’s holding his phone to his ear with a shoulder as best he can, needing to keep his good hand free to apply pressure to the deep wound in the other. It’s a relief when he finally gets to the main door and it opens automatically – makes sense, really.

“It’s fine, Mum, it’s fine, I’ll probably just need one or two stitches then they’ll send me on my way.”

He does his best to sound completely cognisant and not at all woozy, despite the fact that the rag pressed to his hand is soaked through with blood and he’s certain it’s not as cold in the hospital as he feels. He casts his gaze around the foyer while his mother berates him for driving himself – “I didn’t want to waste the paramedics’ time because I slipped while cooking, Mum, they have more pressing matters to attend to” – and lands on a ‘General Enquiries’ desk. He heads over (walking purposefully, thank you very much, that stumble could have happened to anyone) and smiles at the lady behind it. He makes sure to hold his hands down below the desk, unable to do much about the phone still cradled against his ear. 

“Hi. I did a stupid thing and cut myself while I was cooking, and I’m pretty sure it needs stitches?” He didn’t mean for it to become a question, but she nods in understanding. His mother starts up again on the phone, shouting the words “URGENT CARE” loudly enough into his ear to hurt, but the woman either doesn’t hear or ignores it. Ben’s grateful.

“Would you mind showing me the wound? That’ll help me figure out where to send you.”

Ben sighs – he hates people making a big deal about him, and he has a feeling that’s exactly what this woman’s going to do. He brings his hands up over the desk (which requires a lot more effort than normal) and pulls the rag away. Blood immediately wells from the wound, which gapes nearly a centimetre wide, and drips onto the desk. The drenched tea towel in his other hand drips as well, which he hadn’t realised, and he’s about to apologise when the woman grabs that hand and presses it firmly back against the wound.

“The emergency department is to your right, go there _now_.”

Ben nods and starts to say he’s sorry about the desk, but she shushes him with a hand in the air and repeats, “ _Now_.”

He hurries as best he can, aware that he’s sweating a little – never a good sign, given how cold he is. There are more fluorescent lights on the foyer and it makes his throbbing headache worse; when he finally gets to the desk of the emergency room he leans against it thankfully, aware that he’ll be needing to apologise again for dripping blood on the counter. The man behind it takes one look at him, then at his hands, and grabs a phone, declaring “Patient requiring urgent care in the ER, major blood loss” into it before he steps out from behind the desk and helps Ben sit down, pulling his hands up so he’s holding from in front of his face. Blood trickles down his forearm, and the nurse grimaces sympathetically. Ben would object to all this man-handling, but having someone else hold his hands up for him is actually a huge relief, so he stays quiet. He catches the eye of the man sitting across from him, who’s got both feet propped up on a wheelchair on front of him – one of them is alarmingly swollen, the other one only slightly less so, and both are purplish-blue with bruising. The man behind those abused-looking feet is stunning, blond and tanned and gorgeous, despite his tired-looking face.

The nurse addresses the man: “I’m sorry sir, I know it’s taking a while, but –”

The man holds up a hand, his expression patient, accommodating. “Don’t apologise, I’m hardly gonna get worse from here. My situation isn’t urgent, certainly not as much as this gentleman’s,” he smiles, nodding at Ben. If there was enough blood left in his body, Ben would blush at being pinned under that gaze. As it is he just smiles, wishing his brain could create one of the witty one-liners on which he usually relies.

He’s saved from having to stumble his way through a response by a doctor approaching him at a clip, and she and the nurse help him stand. The nurse then rushes back to the desk to attend to someone who’s just limped through the door, and Ben steals one last glance behind him as the doctor steers him away.

His body tries valiantly to blush again when he sees the man staring back, a little smile playing on his lips.

 

* * *

 

Only a hour later, Ben’s been stitched up, deposited into a bed, and hooked up to an IV. He’d avoided any major arteries (apparently they’re very difficult to get to from the surface, which makes sense), and although he’d lost a lot of blood it wasn’t quite enough to necessitate a blood transfusion. He’s just been told that he’s going to be staying the night so he can be observed – not the best outcome, but it could certainly be a lot worse – when he hears a fair amount of bustling down the hall. He tries to lift his head off the pillow but it’s useless; he’s still shockingly weak, and the strain makes his head throb painfully, so he just listens.

It’s a relief he’s not hooked up to a heart rate monitor, because his pulse spikes embarrassingly when he recognises the voice – it belongs to the man from the waiting room with the swollen ankles and lovely face. He’s insisting that he can wheel himself to the bed (and being ignored, if his huffing and grumbling is anything to go by), but eventually he gives up and goes quiet. It takes Ben a second to realise that the squeaking of the nurse’s shoes on the floor has stopped right next to Ben’s bed, and when he heaves his head up to look he sees the man being helped into the bed next to his. The blonde notices him looking, and smiles warmly.

“Well well, fancy seeing you here.”

“Glad to see you out of the waiting room,” Ben replies, amazed by his own brazen response. Apparently the painkillers the doctor gave him are working very well indeed. It’s worth it, though, for the joyous laugh it earns him.

Having finally wrestled the man into the bed, the nurse starts unfastening the curtain that separates the two beds, but the man notices and stops him.

“No, please, he’s a friend of mine. I like him being here.”

Ben immediately recognises the feeling in his gut, how it sinks and soars at once – shit. The nurse eyes Ben, clearly aware that the man is blatantly lying, but Ben gives him a nod and he leaves the curtain where it is. Ben feels the hot blush that’s spread across his cheeks, his forehead, and can’t even be embarrassed by it because it feels so nice to function properly again.

“My my, your skin takes on an entirely different colour when you’re not losing blood by the gallon.”

Ben laughs, feeling his blush deepen. Shaking his head (with effort), he replies, “I can’t even imagine what colour you skin’s meant to be, beneath all that bruising.”

Granted, it’s not his best, but now it’s the other man’s turn to blush, so he counts it as a win.

“I’m Ben, by the way,” he introduces himself when the nurse leaves for a moment. He can feel his hands sweating where they’re resting on his stomach, and he can’t really blame the blood loss anymore.

“Mike,” the man replies, holding his hand out as if to shake Ben’s. They’re far too far apart to actually reach, but Ben holds his hand out too, and they do this stupid air-shake thing that has them both laughing. It hurts Ben’s head something awful, but he couldn’t stop if he tried. Mike’s face lights up so beautifully when he laughs that Ben’s having trouble not staring, so he notices right away when the laugh turns into a grimace of pain. He covers it quickly, but looks sheepish when he catches Ben’s sympathetic wince.

“Haven’t had any painkillers yet,” he offers as explanation.

“How long were you waiting?”

“About…” Mike checks his watch, raises his eyebrows, “seven hours.”

Ben balks.

“Holy shit!” It’s a little louder than he’d meant, but Ben’s horrified: seven hours sitting around with what turned out to be one broken ankle and one badly sprained one?! He’s amazed Mike is capable of any conversation at all, let alone being friendly and charming and generally loveable. _That’s going to be a problem_ , Ben muses.

“It’s not that bad, honestly,” Mike reasons, still sounding amazingly relaxed about the whole thing. “Like I said before, it’s not like I can get any worse from here, and there are more urgent cases than an idiot like me.”

Ben bites his tongue, feeling that saying something along the lines of, “You’re not an idiot, you’re wonderful,” might be a little too much too soon. He does give in to his curiosity, however, and asks what happened.

“ _Well_ ,” Mike sighs, a wry grin on his face, “I jumped off a very, very tall platform and landed on my feet.”

Ben blinks, unwilling to accept such a skin-and-bones explanation, so Mike gives him the whole story. Turns out he works as an instructor at an outdoor activities centre, and they’d had a big Scouts event that day where external companies would bring their own activities onto the site and run them for the kids. One of them was basically a big air bag (“Essentially a jumping castle-type thing without a top”), and the activity was to get lifted up on a cherry picker platform and jump off onto the bag.

It all sounds ridiculously unsafe to Ben, and he says as much. Mike laughs, gesturing to his feet and muttering, “No kidding.”

“So I go through it once from about fifteen feet up, land on my back like I’m supposed to, everything’s fine,” he carries on. Ben thinks he could listen to him talk forever. “Then on my second go around, the guy operating the platform asks how high I want to go. Obviously, I tell him to take me as high as he can, which turns out to be about forty feet –”

Ben groans.

“– and ask him if I can to a front flip.”

Ben groans again, louder, squeezing his eyes shut against the image of Mike plummeting through the air, feet-first, toward a flimsy blow-up bag. When he opens them, he sees a concerned nurse bustling towards him, but he waves his hand and insists he’s alright. She nods, but stops by Mike’s bed, setting down her handful of bandages and a bucket of something Ben assumes is plaster. Mike pauses his story to chat to the nurse for a second, helping her get a cushion under his foot so she can start wrapping it up into a cast. When she’s underway, he carries on, though he keeps having to stop himself to swear softly when the nurse shifts his foot around.

“So the guy says I can do a flip, as long as I don’t land on either my head or my feet,” he continues, grinning at Ben’s sardonic expression. “I think yeah, obviously, I’m not an idiot – I _know_ , Ben, I know, but at the time I thought it’d be easy – and then I’m off. One of my co-workers got a video of it, actually, he sent it through to me while I was in the waiting room. In my defence, it was a _perfect_ front flip,” he holds his finger and thumb together in a circle for emphasis, “and if I were a gymnast it would have been a ten-out-of-ten dismount.”

Ben laughs regardless of his consternation, unable to resist Mike’s contagious attitude. The nurse looks up at Mike and grins at him, clearly enjoying the story, and Ben’s stomach wrenches horribly when Mike shares her smile. He covers it by putting a hand to his head when Mike frowns at him, pretending his grimace is because of his headache. Mike tilts his head, but goes on.

“As it turns out, there’s a reason the rule – _the one rule_ – involves not landing on your feet. That shit _hurt_. I knew it as soon as I landed, even if I didn’t feel it right away.”

“What did you do?” Ben asks, enthralled despite himself. Mike shake his head self-consciously.

“I climbed off the bag, didn’t I? Tried valiantly to walk it off –” Ben can’t quell the gasp that slips out “– until a few people I work with practically grabbed me and hauled me off my feet. Apparently I went ‘quite grey,’ according to my boss.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ben breathes, amazed. “You were _walking around_ on a _broken ankle_?”

“Not for long, obviously, but yeah.”

Conversation pauses again – the nurse has finished setting Mike’s cast, and she tells him she’s going to grab him some crutches, so he can go home soon. Unable to stop himself, Ben objects.

“Sorry, but how is he supposed to support himself on a sprained ankle?”

The nurse looks at Mike’s other leg, seeming to notice its alarming size and colour for the first time.

“Good point,” she mutters. “I’ll have to ask about securing you a bed for the night.”

“It’s fine,” Mike declares, shaking his head. “The other ankle is fine, at least to get me out of here. I’ll put it up as soon as I get home,” he insists at Ben’s disbelieving face.

The nurse, thankfully, seems to agree with Ben.

“I couldn’t let you leave in this state, especially by yourself. Give me a minute, I’ll get a doctor to have a chat with you and figure out what to do.”

She rushes off, ignoring Mike’s protests. Mike falls back against his pillow and levels a playfully annoyed glare at Ben, but Ben just smiles sweetly in return. Mike huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“I should have let them close this bloody curtain,” he mutters. Ben would be hurt were it not for Mike’s light tone, and the cheeky wink that accompanies his words. Ben blushes, aware that he’s on the way to set a new world record for the most blushing in one night but completely powerless to help it. Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hospital, and even though he’s clearly exhausted from what’s been a long and eventful day, Mike is radiant. His blue eyes are soft yet piercing under a fringe of fluffy, dishevelled blond hair. Ben wonders what it would feel like to run his fingers through it, if those gorgeous eyes would drift closed at the sensation of fingernails gently massaging his scalp. He wonders what that stubble would feel like against his own clean-shaven skin.

He also wonders where the _fuck_ that train of thought came from.

“Sorry,” he says, having to clear his throat a little against his embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to get you imprisoned here, I just got the feeling that if given the opportunity, you’d absolutely grit your teeth and hobble out of here on an ankle that’s as good as broken.”

Mike’s mouth opens, then shuts again. He shrugs, his expression the visual equivalent of, _You’re not wrong_.

“Don’t apologise. I know you just didn’t want me to leave so soon.”

He grins when Ben ducks his head, chuckling gently. It’s quiet after that – as quiet as a hospital can be. Ben settles himself into the bed properly, trying to ignore the needle in his arm while he adjusts the thin blanket over his body. It’s not really necessary, he’s a perfectly comfortable temperature, but it feels weird to sleep without a sheet of some kind. It also feels weird to sleep with his jeans and shoes on – serves him right for being careless in the kitchen.

He realises, all of a sudden, that Mike doesn’t know how he ended up here. It feels fair to share the story with him, given how much enjoyment he’d got out of Mike’s recount. His story isn’t nearly as entertaining as Mike’s – it basically boils down to, “I slipped chopping up carrots and cut myself” – but Mike listens studiously, his eyes never leaving Ben’s face. It’s amazing Ben can get the words out under that gaze, his heart’s beating so fast, but he’s also never felt so validated for such a nothing story. Mike smiles in all the right places, sucks in gasps, makes sympathetic little frowns. Ben loves it, because it gives him a chance to catalogue his face without feeling embarrassed. When he’s finished, Mike heaves out a sigh.

“You _drove yourself_ here? Are you insane?”

Ben can’t resist rolling his eyes; it’s like being on the phone with his mother all over again.

“Paramedics have a _serious job_ , Mike, I refuse to waste their time just because I’m an idiot who wasn’t paying attention.”

“Paramedics have a serious job which involves helping people like _you_ , Ben, who hurt themselves and lose copious amounts of blood.”

He’s trying to sound serious but he can’t seem to stop the grin on his face. Ben’s saved from having to justify himself – again – by the return of the nurse from earlier, this time followed by the doctor who helped stitch Ben up. She asks how he’s doing (“Much better, thank you”) before she starts talking with Mike about what his options are. If he can get someone to come pick him up, the doctor is happy to let him go home tonight, but otherwise they’d prefer he stay until morning. Mike nods and says he’ll stay, given that it’s now too late to reasonably call someone. That makes Ben’s chest tingle a little – surely that means Mike’s unattached, if he doesn’t have anyone to call at eleven at night. _Good to know_.

“Besides, I have my good friend Ben to keep me company, so why would I go home?”

It’s an offhand comment meant to make Ben and the doctors laugh, and it works, but it also makes Ben’s heart soar. He and Mike share a look, and Ben is once again thankful he’s not hooked up to a heart rate monitor. Eventually the doctors and nurses leave them alone, after giving them each some painkillers – just a few ibuprofen each, but it’s better than nothing – and they both settle in. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take Ben long to fall asleep.

Apparently, that’s what major blood loss can do to a man.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up in the morning, it’s to Mike having a hushed conversation with a nurse. He’s thrilled to realise that though his head hurts a little, especially under the blasted lights, his throbbing headache from last night is history. He scrubs his good hand over his face before reaching for his glasses, returning the smile Mike sends him sleepily. Mike’s hair is even messier than it was last night, sticking up in all directions, and it’s so heartbreakingly endearing that Ben can’t help but sigh. Noticing he’s awake, the nurse comes over to his bed.

“Morning, Mr. Ebbrell, how are you feeling?”

“Very well, thank you.” His voice is gruff with sleep, mouth a little dry. He hears Mike suck in a breath, assumes he’s still in pain.

“Well, you seem to have made a full recovery, so you’re free to go home whenever you’re ready to do so. You’ll need to come back in a week so we can take those stitches out, can we set up an appointment now?”

Ben nods – the school he works at are on holidays for the next two weeks, so he’s a free agent next Friday. Even if that weren’t the case, he can’t imagine the school would deny him the afternoon off for a medical situation. He and the nurse agree that he’ll come in at eleven, and she gives him the spiel about keeping the stitches as dry and clean as possible and watching out for any redness, tenderness, or swelling. When she leaves, Ben swings his legs out of the bed and relishes in the fact that the action no longer makes his head swim dangerously. Mike looks over and sees Ben already looking at him. He smiles.

“I suppose this is goodbye then, Benjamin.”

It’s ridiculous that the thought makes Ben genuinely sad.

“Are you being set free, too?”

Mike gives him a wry smile, a shake of the head.

“My ‘good’ ankle is apparently not good enough for me to take the bus, so I can’t go home until someone comes to pick me up or it gets better.” He sighs heavily. Ben resists the urge to ask if anyone’s coming to get him – the answer’s pretty clear.

“I have a car,” he says, stupidly. Mike nods distractedly, so Ben clears his throat and tries again.

“I mean, I drove myself here, and am about to drive myself home. I could drive you home, if you’d like.”

Mike immediately protests that he couldn’t ask that of him, but the hope is evident in his eyes, so Ben insists. Mike caves immediately.

The trip between the hospital and the parking lot is far, far easier than it had seemed last night. Ben wheels Mike through the hallways, Mike trying his best to keep the crutches on his lap from hitting anyone or anything on the way. When they finally get to the car, Ben helps haul Mike into the backseat – they figured it would be best for him to keep his feet elevated as much as possible, and while the backseat isn’t ideal, it’s better than the front. Ben’s hand aches with all the strain but he does his best not to let it show. Eventually Mike’s in, and Ben clambers into the front seat, a little horrified by the amount of dried blood on the steering wheel and the floor. He makes a mental note to clean it up later, then starts the car.

It turns out Mike doesn’t live very far from Ben at all, which does funny things to Ben’s stomach. When he pulls up outside Mike’s apartment complex he’s a little disheartened by just how many storeys there seem to be, and the stairs leading up to the front door, but Mike assures him it’ll be okay – he only lives on the third floor. Though his sprained ankle is still sore, he can weight-bear on it just enough to use the crutches, so with a lot of hobbling and leaning on Ben, Mike gets himself into the building and in front of the elevator. He starts saying his goodbyes, but Ben won’t have it.

“Until I see you on a couch or on a bed, I’m not leaving.”

Mike waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Benjamin, you flirt. At least buy me dinner first.”

“You know what I meant,” Ben laughs, his heart thudding delightfully.

Mike relents, even lets Ben help him into the lift and lean him against the wall. There’s a comfortable silence as the floors whizz by. Ben keeps sneaking looks at Mike, trying to take it all in before he never sees him again. He looks much nicer in the warm lighting of the lift – it catches the natural highlights in his hair, the high points of his cheekbones and jaw, the pink of his lips. Ben doesn’t realise he’s staring until the bell dings, but it’s okay – if Mike’s embarrassed smile is anything to go by, he was staring, too.

It’s an effort for Mike to figure out his crutches while trying to dig his keys out of his pocket, so Ben puts his hands on his shoulders so he can lean on him. It’s this strangely intimate moment that Ben’s worried is a little too far, but Mike leans into him, murmurs thanks, so he figures it’s fine. Mike’s apartment is a little messy, clothes and books and musical instruments all over the place, but it’s charmingly comfortable. Mike leads him to the bedroom, which is surprisingly tidier than the rest of the place and has this huge window overlooking the street that Ben’s insanely jealous of, and sits himself down on the bed. Ben helps him arrange some pillows so he’s got some under his head and plenty under his legs, then stands back. Ostensibly he’s admiring his handiwork, but in reality he’s just enjoying the sight of Mike all laid out like this. He bustles away to the kitchen to grab some water, calling over his shoulder to ask what Mike wants to eat.

When he comes back with the glass of water and the whole tin of biscuits, Mike is in the middle of taking his shirt off. It’s a wonder Ben doesn’t drop everything.

“Been wearing this for over a full day now, getting a bit sick of it.”

Ben gulps and puts his things down on the bedside table, handing Mike the shirt he asks for from the dresser. It’s a shame to see his soft, tanned skin be covered up again, but he does his best not to stare.

“Guess I should go, then,” he says awkwardly, tracing his fingers around the stitches in his hand because he’s unsure what else to do. Mike frowns but nods, so Ben turns to go.

“You should give me your number.”

He says it so quickly Ben’s not sure those were actually separate words, but he turns back and smiles.

“In case I break the other ankle taking a piss,” Mike jokes, looking proud of himself when Ben laughs.

“Am I your personal carer now then, Michael?”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound so hopeful.

“I mean, I should be keeping an eye on you, too. All that blood loss might present itself in strange ways.” He grins at Ben’s eye-roll, fidgeting with his shirt. “Besides, at some point I’ll have to thank you for driving me home and all this,” he gestures around himself. “Might be hard to do if I can’t reach you.”

Ben’s overly middle-class side is about to protest that he doesn’t need to thank him (or that just the words “thank you” will do), but it’s quickly shut down by the realisation that Mike wants to see him again. He just nods, trying not to break out into the full-blown grin that’s itching at his lips, and takes Mike’s proffered phone to put in his information. Mike takes it back and taps around on it for a bit, then Ben’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

When he opens the message, it just says, **_Hi :)_** , and it’s so childish but Ben’s stomach twists pleasantly nonetheless. He says his goodbyes, assuring Mike that if he needs anything – “Anything at all, honestly” – that he can call, then he lets himself out. He knows he’s grinning like an idiot the whole way back to his car, but it’s physically impossible to stop himself.

The grin only increases when he reads a new text from Mike that says, **_Look up_** – when he does, he sees Mike leaning over on the bed to wave at him from that massive window. Ben waves back, probably looking completely mad to any passers-by, but it’s worth it for the way it makes Mike laugh. Reluctantly, he gets back into his car and drives himself home, feeling safe in the knowledge that this almost definitely won’t be the last time he sees Mike.

If he puts on his jauntiest playlist and sings to himself while cleaning his dried blood off the kitchen counter when he gets home, well – nobody else needs to know.

**Author's Note:**

> It's the emergency room AU that nobody asked for! Full disclosure, for anyone who's thinking Mike' injury sounds ridiculously stupid and not at all possible - that's exactly how I broke one ankle and sprained the other two years ago. Yes, I'm lazy and use my own life experiences to justify hospital meet-cutes, don't judge me.
> 
> Also, I'm still in awe that I wrote nearly 5000 words and not one of them was pornographic - now that's what we call character development! Shouts out to [spaceboy_niko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceboy_niko/pseuds/spaceboy_niko) for motivating this fic by keeping the fandom alive.
> 
> Title is from London Loves by Blur.


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